


RickFalls Fiddleford

by SerenaDusk



Series: RickFalls Shorts [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Crossover, Drunkenness, Gen, Memory Erasing Gun, Mild Language, Rick is a dick, portal gun - Freeform, unstable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenaDusk/pseuds/SerenaDusk
Summary: Fiddleford hears an intruder in his toolshed and grabs the first weapon he can find to fight them off. Little does he know that the intruder will not be impressed with his memory gun at all
Series: RickFalls Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716340
Kudos: 12





	RickFalls Fiddleford

**Drunk genius or just drunk?**

Finally a night without nightmares, a morning where he would leave the memory gun alone. Fiddleford sometimes wondered if Ford had been right about his reliance on the thing. Were there long-term side-effects to the use of the device? Did he wonder about that before? What was he doing again? Right, getting up out of bed and erase his nightmares. Wait no, he didn’t have nightmares. Great, now he had a headache. Coffee was a great idea right now, what could go wrong with that. Fiddleford rummaged through the cabinets, forgetting what he was doing for a second before finally finding what he needed and making himself a cup of coffee. His eyes darted toward the memory gun, always placed in the same spot, just in case he’d forget more than he wanted. It had become such a habit to erase his mind that he had to remind himself there was nothing to erase. Maybe he should erase his concern about not having to erase anything? Was he going mad? As mad as Ford?

He lost his trail of thoughts there, as usual, until he heard some sort of zapping noise from his shed. One would think that someone who erased every strange phenomenon from his mind knew better than to go see what was going on, but Fiddleford McGucket had not been thinking straight for quite a while now, so he instinctively grabbed his memory gun before running to his shed to face whatever intruder was messing up his tools and projects. Maybe it was just a raccoon that was looking for a leftover sandwich or something. Wouldn’t be the first time either, he had a tendency to forget food while he was working. But the closer he got to his shed, the more his rational side told him this wasn’t a raccoon, since raccoon didn’t speak English. As far as he knew. Maybe raccoons could understand people all along but pretended not to. No, that was just his paranoid brain. Would it be possible to erase that altogether? Just erase his anxiety? No, focus Fiddleford.

He kicked open the door with as much force and intimidation he could possibly muster up this early in the morning before breakfast. He raised the memory gun, without even pausing to look at who or what had gotten into his shed. All he knew that it was coming from the area where his tools and blueprints were. “Stop or I will make you forget your own life!” He shouted. Sadly, any level of intimidation he could have possibly had shouting that was immediately ruined by the fact his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He mumbled a southern curse under his breath and glanced over the edge of his glasses to whatever it was that had broken into his shed. For a second he thought it was some creature from the woods that was now wearing one of his lab coats. Right when he thought he would have to use the memory gun on himself after all to erase that image from his brain, the thing turned around and pointed something at him in return.

“Shoot and I will portal your stomach to the nearest alien restaurant to have it served to the next customer.” The voice of the intruder was dry and unimpressed, but Fiddleford couldn’t see his face yet, so he didn’t know if the other was faking his calmness or just actually didn’t give a flying fuck about a gun in his face that could potentially erase everything he had ever known. The intruder took a step forward and Fiddleford took a good look at his face. No, this guy truly didn’t fucking care. “You know what? Shoot me, I dare you. Sounds interesting.” The man with unibrow studied the erratic man who wasn’t the man he once was, not by a long shot. Against his better judgement, the unstable scientist lowered the memory gun. “Who the hell are you?” He asked confused. He thought he knew the face of almost everyone in town, and this guy didn’t ring a bell, not even a nag in the back of his head indicating a forgotten memory.

“Rick Sanchez.” The intruder holstered the weird weapon he had pointed at Fiddleford’s face earlier and turned his back towards him. Clearly not bothered by the fact he was caught breaking into someone else’s property. Fiddleford felt a hint of anger. “Get out of my shed.” He said, but his voice cracked again. A side-effect from the memory gun. Rick raised the left part of his unibrow, which Fiddleford couldn’t see, since Rick had his back turned on him. “Did someone choke you recently? You sound like a fucking mess.” He sounded vaguely amused and the Southerner balled his fists. “None of your business. Get out of my shed.” He repeated and Rick raised the other half of his unibrow as well. “You think I’d be in this dumpster hole of yours if I had somewhere else to be? Shut up and let me work before I put you in a pocket dimension.” He rolled his eyes, but Fiddleford had been working with Ford for long enough to know that you can’t just ‘put someone in a pocket dimension’. The idea was ridiculous enough for Fiddleford to start laughing. “You’re insane.”

Rick turned back around and laughed too, then pulled the weird gun from earlier out again, pointed it at the wall and shot. Immediately a green vortex opened, causing the Southerner to scream and drop the memory gun. While he didn’t actually have flashbacks, he did get a massive headache from forgotten memories, begging to be restored. It was like a cascade of unfinished thoughts, shooting through his brain, trying to get his focus, but all just out of reach. Fiddleford started to see double and almost fell into one of his unfinished creations that were littered across the shed. Rick stared at him. While it had been his goal to prove his point, this panic seemed a little over the top. “What the fuck? Get yourself together, you’re making a fool of yourself. It’s not going to fucking eat you.” That last comment made Fiddleford go green and he reached for the memory gun, desperate to ease his brain.

The intruder saw it and set his foot on the device. “Oh fuck no, you’re not using that. First you tell me why you turned into a fucking mess even more at the sight of this. I know it’s impressive, but you’re killing the joy of my genius when you act like that.” He kicked the memory gun aside and pointed his portal gun at Fiddleford as soon as the man tried to scramble after it. The Southerner froze immediately. “You’re even worse than Ford Pines.” He mumbled, trying to get a hold of himself. Strangely, as soon as he spoke the word ‘Pines’, Rick almost dropped his own weapon and lost his calm for just a second before regaining his composure. “Of course I’m worse. I’m the worst, that what I am Rick Sanchez for. Now stop fucking interrupting me.” The man said and then turned back to what he had been doing before Fiddleford had kicked the door in.

The Southerner was too bewildered about this sudden turn of events to really react to it. Apparently he was no longer owing the other an explanation, which was probably better. He silently retrieved his memory gun and then took a look at what the other had been doing in the first place. He expected to see the other either rummage through his tools or copying blueprints or something criminal like that. Instead, it appeared the other was repairing some sort of fusion battery. Fiddleford’s old instincts played up. “That thing won’t stabilize completely if you don’t fix up the infuser.” He muttered and Rick looked up. “Fuck you, don’t tell me what to do. What the fuck do you even know about fusion technology, farmer?” He grunted. The Southerner felt something that he had not felt in quite a while; he was insulted. “Well screw you then, I would love to see that thing blow up.” He snapped back and Rick chuckled. “So you do have some actual fucking nerves. Good to know.”

Fiddleford wanted to bang his head against the wall a couple of times if he had to put up with this guy for much longer. And it appeared that the intruder was in hurry to leave. “You said Pines earlier.” Rick spoke up after several minutes of only muttered curses as the battery continued to spark. “Ford Pines, yes. Made me built a bloody portal too, and you won’t see me getting near one ever again.” Fiddleford answered immediately, without even thinking about what he said. The other looked up. “Do you need a drink?” He suddenly asked and the Southerner hesitated. It was early in the morning. But then he shrugged. “I might as well.” He spoke up and pulled a crate over so he could sit on the other side of the workbench. Rick put his hand through the still activated portal on the wall and pulled out a couple of bottles. Fiddleford grabbed a piece of scrap metal and removed the bottle caps with it. Rick seemed amused and raised one of them. “To the idiots called Pines?” He asked with a smirk and Fiddleford followed his example. “To the self-centred idiots called Pines.” He agreed and they proceeded to down the whole content in one go. “Impressive, farmer. Didn’t catch your name earlier.” Rick belched and the Southerner laughed. “Fiddleford McGucket. And I am not a farmer. I’m a mechanic.” He belched too. The alcohol numbed his anxiety almost immediately.

“Yes, I got that from the junk I found in here. Only decent place in this whole damn village. I don’t fucking understand how anyone would want to live like this. It’s the 20th century for fuck’s sake.” Rick pulled more bottles out of the portal. It hardly bothered the mechanic anymore. “There are more places.” He hiccupped and opened the bottles. “But scanners get fucked up around here. Ford says it has a bigger meaning. I think everything’s just fucked up around here.” He grinned at Rick. The both drank another bottle before the battery started sparking again and Rick glared at it. “Son of a bitch.” He told the battery and Fiddleford dug through a heap of parts before pulling out something small. “Here, stabilize that thing with this.” He mumbled, not thinking straight. He didn’t know what it was that Rick drank, but it was strong. Numbed his thoughts though, so that was great.

Rick seemed to cope with it a lot better. “I like it when people aren’t complete morons.” He spoke up and proceeded to attach the part to the battery and it finally stopped sparking. “Now I can get the fuck out of here.” He belched, but Fiddleford grabbed his sleeve. “No, stay.” He mumbled and Rick hesitated. Perhaps too much alcohol? Fuck no, there was no such thing. “Fine, tell me about Pines.” He then demanded. The mechanic froze but then opened his mouth and told Rick everything he still remembered, about college, how they parted afterwards until Ford called him for his help, the two of them working together and then Ford acting up. By that time he had downed two more bottles and started to cry. Rick rolled his eyes. “Anything else?” He asked the sobbing mechanic, not willing to wait until the other calmed down. “I don’t remember what else.” Fiddleford mumbled. He had been leaning his chin on his hands for a while but now it slid off and the mechanic faceplanted on the desk, almost in a screw.

Rick rolled his eyes and poked the other a few times. “Enough already? Disappointing. You should hear my Pines.” He muttered when the mechanic didn’t react. He was blacked out. Rick got up, grabbed the battery and let his eyes go over the memory gun. “Impressive fucking thing you got there, McGucket, but I doubt you can handle it.” He belched and swayed slightly as he walked out. He should probably take that memory thing with him, but frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck about what the man would do with it.


End file.
